


Becoming Champion

by Katalyna_Rose



Series: Alie Hawke [5]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 13:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11014254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katalyna_Rose/pseuds/Katalyna_Rose
Summary: A duel to the death between a mage and a powerful Qunari warrior can't end well, yet Fenris has to watch as the woman he loves attempts to hold her own against the Arishok to save Kirkwall. He has to struggle not to throw himself into the fight beside her and violate the terms of the duel, begging, praying for just a little more time, one more chance with her to do it right. He needs her to know that he loves her.





	Becoming Champion

Watching a mage who wielded a bow fight a nearly unmatched warrior whose sheer brute strength seemed almost impossible felt a lot like watching a ritual sacrifice to Fenris. It was made worse by the fact that the mage in question was the one person he loved above all others. His heart had leapt into his throat the moment the fight began and his stomach had joined it with the first near miss. He almost wished he was physically capable of turning away, terrified to see her hurt but terrified of missing a single second as well. It was a conflict that left him feeling raw and unable to so much as blink.

Hawke kept moving, retreating in a complicated dance that kept her exactly where the Arishok least expected her to be. But despite never receiving even a glancing hit she couldn’t seem to hurt him, either. Her arrows were brushed away by those enormous blades and her spells seemed to mostly slide off of him. They fought in circles, the captive nobility pressed back against the walls as far out of the way as physically possible. Fenris was the closest to the fight since he couldn’t seem to move away. Aveline had a tight hold on his wrist since he had almost charged in to fight beside Hawke despite the fact that it would violate the terms of the duel. Isabela stood beside him, a hand pressed to her mouth and tears sliding down her face. Every few seconds she muffled a sob or sniffled. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Anders wringing his hands at his other side. He hadn’t actually known that was something people did before, but the mage rocked on his toes and wrung his hands, his eyes glued to the fight. Fenris couldn’t see Varric, but he could hear the dwarf’s breaths echoing the fight. Each time Hawke leaped or the Arishok’s blades cut into the carpet where she had stood less than a second before or an arrow was knocked away or a spell merely glanced off of him, the dwarf took a ragged breath.

Then came the moment they had all been dreading, the reason their eyes had not strayed from the fight. Hawke’s heel caught on the carpet where one of the Arishok’s blades had pulled it up when he yanked it free. She didn’t fall, but she did falter, having been unable to see the uneven spot as she retreated backwards. But it was enough to give her enemy the opening he had thus far not been able to find.

She grunted when the blade sank into her belly and thrust through her back. She didn’t yell or cry or even drop her weapon. She was lifted up into the air, blood pouring from her wound onto the Arishok as he all but bathed in it. He grinned at her fiercely, certain in his victory, and Fenris became aware that he was shouting, his throat sore already from the sheer volume of his yell, when Aveline tugged at him sharply. Hawke looked over at him and he was stunned to see her smile at him. Her body had slid down the blade that had impaled her until she was resting at the hilt and she was already losing color from blood loss, but she smiled the same way she always did when she looked at him. He had hurt her, left her alone and devastated in the wake of their pleasure, and yet she never failed to give him that beautiful little smirk. It felt like a goodbye to see it from her now.

But it wasn’t the end. Her proximity to the Arishok, achieved only through his assured victory, gave her the opening she needed. She hadn’t dropped her bow, and while her enemy was watching her face to see the light leave her eyes she drew the string back, an arrow still ready, and shot him point blank in the throat. Her magic flowed up the arrow shaft and froze his choked gurgle. Fenris could only see his profile, but his eyes widened in shock as his body fell limp, his life leeched away far more quickly than hers would. As he fell, so did she. He sprawled on his back, his weapons dropping. Hawke, still impaled on that damned sword, lay on her side and did not move for long moments.

The crowd of nobles rushed forward while Fenris was still rooted to the ground in shock and fear. Anders raced forward but was pushed back by the crowd. He growled in rage and began shoving his way through.

“I’m a healer!” he yelled. “Let me pass!” But the crowd would not. Fenris stalked forward, his lyrium flickering on his skin, pulsing like lightning and drawing attention.

“Move!” he bellowed, and the crowd parted in waves, their shouts dying into silence.

“Thank you,” Anders said over his shoulder as he raced to Hawke. Fenris was hot on his heels, needing to see her, to be near, to make sure she would live. He fell to his knees beside her as Anders assessed her wound. Her eyes were closed but her chest moved with shallow breaths; there was time.

“Hold her steady while I remove the blade,” Anders told him. He blinked stupidly, then gripped her shoulder tightly in one hand and pressed the other to her hip, holding her torso stationary. The wet, meaty sound of the blade slipping free of her flesh caused nausea to threaten, his last meal sitting in a lump in his throat. Behind him, Isabela choked on a sob and was soothed by Varric. The moment the blade was free Anders rolled her onto her back and poured his magic into her wound. Fenris lifted her head into his lap and cradled it, bending over her and rocking back and forth. He smoothed her hair out of her face, but he needed to feel her skin. The buckles on his gauntlets broke as he frantically pulled at them, but he didn’t care at all. He dropped them as soon as they were off and pressed his hands to her cheeks. Her skin was cool to the touch, an effect of blood loss, but the pulse in her neck remained. It was unsteady and weak, but it was there. She was too strong to die now. She had to be. He began to mutter in Tevene.

 _“Please, please, my love, stay with me. I need more time with you. I need a second chance to do things right.”_ He pressed a kiss to his wrist, where he’d tied the crimson ribbon that she’d worn in her hair the night they’d laid together. He had untied it carefully and gently slipped it free. Before he’d left he grabbed it, though he couldn’t say why. Ever since, he’d worn it on his wrist, never taking it off. She was never far from his thoughts. _“You can’t die now. There’s so much left to do. I couldn’t bear it if you left now. You are strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”_

Vaguely, he noticed Isabela fall to her knees beside Anders and take Hawke’s hand. She pressed it against her forehead, openly sobbing and babbling nearly incoherent apologies.

“Remember… Remember when we danced on the tables at the Hanged Man?” she muttered to Hawke. “I was so drunk I almost couldn’t stand up straight, but you always had more restraint than me. You’d only had half as much to drink, but you were right up there with me. You never made me feel like I had to change to be accepted by you. You always just take everyone as they come. Live and let live, you told me. And I’m so sorry.” She choked on a sob, then took a deep, shaking breath. “I’m so sorry I did this. I should have told you the truth from the start. We could have figured something out, avoided all of this. I’m so sorry I didn’t trust you. Don’t… Just don’t die.”

“You’re too stubborn to die,” he heard Aveline whisper somewhere behind him. “You won’t go now. You can’t. You survived the Blight and a witch-dragon and the journey here and the Deep Roads and countless attempts on your life. I always thought you’d live forever just to spite everyone. Prove me right, Hawke. Just this once. Please.”

“Come on, Hawke,” Varric murmured. “Your story isn’t over yet. I just know you have more crazy shenanigans in you. Let this be just one of a thousand stories I’ll tell about you someday, and not even the most interesting.”

Fenris brushed Hawke’s hair out of her face with gentle fingers, unable to stop touching her, as if his touch could anchor her in life. He looked up at Anders, hoping for good news, but the mage’s face was turning gray, deep shadows at the corners of his mouth and tension in every line of his body. Fenris pulled a lyrium potion off his belt, one of several that he always carried for Hawke since she frequently forgot them. He uncorked it and held it out to the mage, who looked at him with wide eyes, surprised. Fenris didn’t say anything. Needing both hands for the healing, Anders took the potion with his mouth and tilted his head back to drink the contents. When it was empty he let it fall beside him, where it shattered on the floor.

“Thank you,” he gasped, some color returning to his face, then returned his full attention to his patient.

Fenris knew, intellectually, that the healing couldn’t have taken more than fifteen minutes, but by the time Hawke’s breathing evened out and her heart steadied into a strong, sure beat and Anders all but collapsed beside her in exhaustion, he felt like it had been years. He pulled another lyrium potion off his belt because the mage looked like he was about to fall unconscious. He accepted the potion gratefully.

“Give her an elfroot potion, if you can get her to swallow it,” he said hoarsely before downing the potion he held. Fenris grabbed the elfroot potion off his belt and uncorked it with trembling fingers; if Hawke still needed a potion after the healing, it could only mean that she was still in danger. He held her head up with one hand and dripped a little of the potion into her mouth with the other. When she swallowed reflexively he breathed a sigh of relief and slowly fed her the potion until she’d taken the entire thing.

“Can we move her?” he asked, surprised when his voice sounded rough and his throat felt like sandpaper. Anders nodded wordlessly, and Fenris carefully lifted Hawke into his arms. He stood, and the others followed suit though Isabela still sobbed. They moved to leave, but Meredith and Orsino burst in just as they turned for the door.

“Is it over?” Meredith asked, looking around the room.

“She saved us!” the nobles cried.

“Hawke saved us all!”

“She’s a hero!”

“She’s a champion!”

“We all owe her our lives!”

Meredith was silent for a moment, her narrowed eyes fixed on the woman in Fenris’s arms, her small body limp against him and covered in blood.

“Does she live?” Meredith asked. Fenris nodded mutely. “Then it seems that Kirkwall has a new Champion.” She didn’t sound pleased, but Fenris couldn’t care less. All he wanted was to get Hawke home and clean and in bed where she could rest and recover. Meredith stepped out of the way and he walked past her. Orsino’s worried gaze followed them.

“Does she need a healer?” he asked. “I could-“

“No,” Fenris barked. He wouldn’t let strangers near her when she was vulnerable, especially not mages under Meredith’s thumb.

“I’ll take care of her,” Anders said, and though he sounded exhausted Orsino must have conceded because Fenris heard the mage’s steady footfalls right behind him, his boot heels striking the floor hard.

Everyone followed them to Hawke’s estate, though Aveline and Varric remained downstairs when Fenris took Hawke up to her room. Anders followed, and so did Isabela after a hesitation. Fenris laid her down carefully in her bed, then began to strip off her soiled armor. He wanted to bark at Anders and Isabela to leave while he changed her but he knew it was useless. Isabela helped him to lift Hawke’s prone form to make it easier to remove her clothing, and Anders was needed in case she required more healing. Isabela fetched a bowl of water and a pair of rags and the two of them carefully scrubbed away the blood. The top sheet had to be changed after that, and once it was done Isabela brought over clean smallclothes. Fenris scowled at her, but she rolled her eyes.

“I’ve slept with her, too,” she reminded him. “There’s nothing here that I haven’t already seen. Besides, this will be much easier with an extra pair of hands.”

“Fine,” he finally said. “Turn around, mage,” he barked at Anders, who grunted but complied. Once Hawke was wearing the clean smallclothes, he and Isabela tucked her under her blankets. Anders came over and washed her in magic, continuing to heal her. Fenris pulled up the chair that usually sat in front of the fireplace and sat beside the bed. He rested his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees and watched. He didn’t notice when Isabela slipped away, but she was gone when Anders finally finished his spell. He felt the mage’s eyes on him, but he didn’t bother to meet the other man’s gaze.

“Are you staying?” Anders asked quietly.

“I will not be moved,” Fenris replied.

“Good,” Anders said, surprising him. “I’m going to rest downstairs. Call for me if anything happens.” Fenris nodded silently. Only once the door closed and he was alone with Hawke did he allow the tears the fall. Once they began, they didn’t stop for hours, or maybe days. Who could really say how much time passed as he watched Hawke breathe?

The door opened quietly and the footsteps of the intruder were soft and wary, which told him who it was without having to look. He didn’t know how long he’d sat there, only that the light under the curtains was gone again. He hadn’t slept, still afraid that she’d slip away if he took his eyes off her.

“Messere?” Orana said quietly. “I brought you some food.” He heard her set a tray on the nightstand beside him. “It’s been a day and you haven’t moved.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said brusquely, hoping she’d leave. She was silent for a beat and he wondered if perhaps he’d been too harsh.

“Just some water, then?” she whispered. “Please, messere, she won’t want you to neglect yourself.” Fenris turned to her, scowl in place and biting words on his tongue, but he cut himself off when he saw her wide eyes, red rimmed from crying, and the concern she showed for him. He let out the breath he would have used to yell at her in a sigh. None of this was her fault. She was only trying to help in the only way she knew. She didn’t deserve his wrath and Hawke would be livid if he upset her. Orana was very precious to her and he suspected that the former slave somehow reminded her of her sister, though since he’d never met the other Hawke he couldn’t say how.

“Some water would be nice,” he finally said, his voice hoarse from disuse. He picked up the glass from the tray beside him and drank most of it without even stopping to breathe. He gasped slightly, feeling better already. “Thank you,” he told her softly. She smiled and nodded, pouring more water into the glass from the pitcher she’d brought up. Then she left.

Light was peeking out from beneath the curtains again when Hawke finally stirred. Fenris was instantly alert, his reverie broken. He sat forward in his chair and nearly grabbed her hand before he stopped himself. Hawke took a deep breath and let it out on a groan, then opened her eyes. When her gaze met his, she blinked in confusion, then smiled and allowed her eyes to slide shut again.

“How long?” she asked, her voice a hoarse croak. Fenris grabbed the water glass and held it for her to drink from.

“I’m… not sure,” he said as she drank. “A day, maybe?”

Hawke emptied the glass quickly and he reached for the pitcher to refill it. “You’re not sure?” she asked. She managed to bring a hand up to the glass but she didn’t have the strength to hold it so he pressed it to her lips.

“I haven’t left the room,” he admitted softly. Her eyes widened as they met his over the rim of the glass, but she preferred to drink rather than answer and he was grateful. She drank most of the second glass of water before she was done.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t deserve to sit vigil for her like a lover. He’d hurt her in this very room. Though she’d accepted his company when her mother died, had cried in his arms for hours, she had sent him away once the tears dried. She had every right to be furious with him and he deserved whatever retribution she could dream up, yet she had never once lashed out at him. He didn’t deserve her.

“That’s a stupid question,” she said with a grimace. “I feel like I got impaled by a Qunari. Oh, wait. I _did_ get impaled by a Qunari. Bad comparison.” Fenris chuckled and struggled not to fall into hysterics. His relief that she was awake, that she’d be alright, was powerful and left him feeling lightheaded. He leaned his head in his hands and just breathed for long moments. When he looked up again, her eyes were glued to the crimson ribbon on his wrist. He paused, certain for a moment that she was going to demand he give it back and unreasonably terrified by that prospect. She said nothing, however, and he unfroze when her gaze slid away. He wasn’t sure what it meant.

“I’ll get Anders,” he finally said, though the idea of sending the abomination to her while he retreated made him want to retch. “He’ll want to know you’ve awakened.”

“Fenris,” she said, and her voice stopped him. He looked at her, her icy blue gaze sending spears of relief and guilt into his heart in equal measures. “Thank you for watching over me.” He almost broke down sobbing as she offered him a weak smile, but managed to keep his composure long enough to nod and stand, though he wavered on his feet, and go downstairs and rouse Anders from his sleep on the couch in front of the fire and send him up to her. He held in his emotions as he left Hawke’s estate and returned to the run down old mansion that he had been squatting in since the night he met her. The moment the door was shut and locked behind him, however, he felt the tears fall. His leaned against the door and slid down to sit on the floor, weak and shaking with relief.

Hawke would live. That was all that mattered. He had time now. He had the opportunity to find some way to make it up to her. He only needed to find a way. And even if she never forgave him, at least she would live and laugh again. He would rip his own heart out of his chest to hear her laugh again.

**Author's Note:**

> I was mad at myself for having so little Alie content. So here, have some Alie content!


End file.
